


Movement

by edgarallanrose



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Avengers Family, Avengers Tower, Blink and You'll Miss It Stucky, Domestic Avengers, Established Relationship, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Natasha Romanov Has Issues, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:49:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23354956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edgarallanrose/pseuds/edgarallanrose
Summary: Clint was chatting about something. Not about the mission, about some hot dog stand from his childhood that he was apparently pining for. Natasha cocked her head and half-listened, but mostly she watched. How soft his hands seemed when he was refolding pairs of underwear to put back in his dresser, opposed to how strong they looked when he punched a man in the throat.“Nat,” Clint said. “You’ve got that look. What are you thinking about?”Natasha gave him a blithe smile.“Nothing.”
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov
Comments: 6
Kudos: 53





	Movement

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shygryf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shygryf/gifts).



> This fic was written for Shygryf, who requested Clint/Natasha AGES ago, so many apologies for the wait but I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> Thank you to [Madeline](https://beacon911.tumblr.com/) for betaing!

Steve had called for training that afternoon. Training sessions at Avengers Tower were always interesting, but Natasha was distracted. Truth be told, so was Steve. They had both unsuccessfully tried to make fried rice for lunch and had given up and thrown the singed pan in the sink. They had been brainstorming and eating ready-made snacks for the better part of an hour. So far, nothing had been accomplished.

Steve and Natasha had decided to split the responsibility of coordinating training schedules. Each of them brought something different to the table and had varying success while they learned the strengths and weaknesses of their new teammates. It all tended to work out, even when they fundamentally disagreed on certain things.

“Wanda needs to focus more on hand-to-hand,” Steve said, bringing a pencil down to a pad of paper, pausing, then putting the pencil back behind his ear.

“Why?” Natasha said through a mouthful of pretzels. She stood near the pantry, eating them out of the bag. “She has powers. No one needs to get that close to her.”

“Just because no one needs to, doesn’t mean no one will.”

“She has her own style. I’m working with it.”

“We need to function as a unit, not on ‘style.’”

“You’re not in the army anymore, Steve,” Natasha said, lightly, but good-natured, as she rolled up the top of the pretzel bag.

“And I’m not senile yet either, Nat. Thanks for the reminder.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Clint said, walking into the kitchen. “What’s going on in here?”

“Clint, hey,” Steve said. “I didn’t know you were back.”

“Yeah, just in time to help with training, Cap. You’re welcome. Nat, did I just see you try to put a bag away without putting a clip on it?”

“I closed the top up.”

“But not with a clip.” Clint sighed, pulling a bag clip out of a drawer and carefully sealing the pretzel bag before returning it to the pantry. “They’ll go stale.”

“We can buy more pretzels.”

“So wasteful.” Steve shook his head.

“Why is everybody on my ass today?”

“Would that I could be, Nat,” Clint said, a dreamy look on his face.

Natasha glared. Steve blushed.

“Anyway.” Steve exhaled. “Let’s all make our way to the gym in the next half-hour. I’ll have it all sorted out by then.”

Natasha placed a hand on Steve’s back and surreptitiously peeked at his notepad. In the upper left corner, it said “TRAINING EXERCISES,” but the lines below it were completely blank. In the upper right corner, there was a sketch of the profile of a man with chin-length hair, a mask obscuring the lower half of his face.

Natasha squeezed Steve’s shoulder, and followed Clint out of the kitchen.

\---

Clint had only just returned from a mission that morning. Natasha had been itching to see him.

She already knew he was safe. He was fine. They kept in touch enough while he was gone to know that. So, it wasn’t really about needing to see him whole and in one piece.

It was more about just wanting to be near him.

She wasn’t being dramatic, she told herself. It’s not like she felt incomplete without him. It wasn’t like losing a limb when they were separated.

She just liked him. That’s all.

Natasha was perched on the end of Clint’s bed watching him unpack his duffle bag, organize his weapons that needed to be returned to the armory.

Clint was chatting about something. Not about the mission, about some hot dog stand from his childhood that he was apparently pining for. Natasha cocked her head and half-listened, but mostly she watched. How soft his hands seemed when he was refolding pairs of underwear to put back in his dresser, opposed to how strong they looked when he punched a man in the throat.

“Nat,” Clint said. “You’ve got that look. What are you thinking about?”

Natasha gave him a blithe smile.

“Nothing.”

\---

Natasha loved Steve to death, and considered him a very dear friend, but training sessions with Clint were infinitely more fun.

“So _that’s_ how you take someone down with the ankle swipe,” Natasha said, breathing heavily, one knee resting against the small of Clint’s back, pinning him against the mat.

“It sure is,” Clint wheezed.

“You’re going to be smaller and lighter than most of your opponents,” Natasha said directly to Wanda. “Keeping your center of gravity and throwing them off their balance is going to be more useful to you than throwing punches. Knock them to the ground first, then hit them with all you’ve got.”

“I see,” Wanda nodded.

“Maybe one more demonstration before we pair off?”

“Do the thighs!” Clint said, his voice still partly muffled by the mat. “Thigh me!”

Steve cleared his throat. “I don’t know if that’s necessary today—”

“No, I would like to see it,” Wanda said.

Natasha grinned.

“Alright.”

She lifted her knee off Clint, letting him roll onto his back before giving him a hand up.

“Top me, top me,” Clint chanted, quiet enough that only Natasha could hear. She snorted and yanked him onto his feet.

They faced off, Clint looking far more excited than he had a right to be. Sam and Steve shared a look with each other.

“So, the goal here again,” Natasha said, holding her fists up defensively as she moved closer to Clint, “is to get them off balance before the takedown. First, a well-aimed blow to the face, or throat.”

Natasha went for Clint’s nose, pulling her punch, and Clint doubled over, anticipating her move. This allowed Natasha to swing her leg over Clint’s head, resting it on his shoulder, and using that momentum to bring her other leg up and wrapped around behind his neck, both thighs squeezing his throat. From there she could throw herself back into a handstand, flipping Clint over her body and down on the mat, and she landed back on her feet, fists raised by her face.

“And always go back to protecting your face,” Natasha said, blowing a strand of hair out of her mouth.

“Wow,” Wanda said.

“Wow,” Sam said.

“Wow, I am so turned on right now,” Clint said.

“Okay, I think we’re done here—” Steve started.

“Nah, one more, Nat,” Clint said, rolling over on his stomach.

“You and Natasha are excused,” Steve said, with a pointed look at Natasha. “Everyone else, pair up.”

“C’mon, handsome,” Natasha said once everyone else had moved to the other side of the room, jerking her chin towards the door.

They walked to Clint’s room, to his private bathroom. It was always Clint’s room, never Natasha’s. They both undressed without discussion, and Clint ran the water in the shower.

They both rinsed off, cleaning the sweat from their bodies. Natasha kept her own soap in there, and Clint used it to wash her back. Then, finally, she turned in his arms to kiss him.

This was as relaxed and practiced as when they fought, each one anticipating the next move. Natasha had the whole thing memorized. Natasha running her fingernails down Clint’s back, Clint smoothly dropping to his knees, Natasha lifting a leg over his shoulder, tilting her head back against the cold tiles of the shower wall, hot water hitting her chest.

When they were done and completely toweled off they laid together on Clint’s bed, under the sheets, which still smelled like him despite his recent absence.

Clint twisted Natasha’s damp hair around his finger while Natasha rested her head on his chest.

“I don’t like those solo missions,” Clint said. “Doesn’t feel right when you aren’t with me.”

Natasha looked up at him without moving her head. “Wait, you were gone? Didn’t notice.”

“Ha ha.” Clint jostled her shoulder. “I miss you when I’m gone, you know.”

“I know.”

Natasha sighed and closed her eyes, counting every second between the rise and fall of Clint’s chest against her cheek.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this fic, please feel free to share my posts for it on [tumblr](https://edgarallanrose.tumblr.com/post/613804729007472640/movement-edgarallanrose-the-avengers-marvel) or [twitter!](https://twitter.com/Edgarallanrose1/status/1243757154236084224?s=20)
> 
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